Beautiful Graves(46)

I hate that I’m hiding a secret from him. Which is why I try to compensate by being the girlfriend he deserves. Also, I’m aware that the clock is ticking and that Nora is a breath away from telling me she is moving out. She should move out. I’ve ruined enough lives in my short lifetime.

I’ve already done the calculations, and I can rent the place on my own. It’s probably for the best that I stay there for at least one more year. I can’t see myself taking big steps with Dom, with everything that’s going on.

“Food’s amazing, babe,” Dom moans as he tears into a drumstick. My mother always said you can tell a lot about a man by the way he eats his fried chicken, and Dom’s a savage when it comes to his meal. He licks his fingers and separates the meat from the bone, crushing the semihard parts with his teeth. Oil drips down his chin. He is like that during sex too. Hungry and raw and real. Yet in just about any other area in life, he is sweet, agreeable, almost placid; the two versions of him coexist, but I cannot help but suspect that he is one more than the other. What bothers me is I don’t know which part of him is real and which part is for show.

After Dom is done eating, I clear the table, wash the dishes, and massage his feet while we’re watching a movie adaptation of a book he forgot to read for his book club. We’re in his bed. At some point my earring disappears, and I crouch down and look for it on his floor. Dom puts the movie on pause and helps me. He shakes the blanket and the pillows. Pads along the hallway, squinting at the floor. He is at the edge of the hallway when my fingers touch a thin gold necklace under his bed. I grab it. It spills between my fingers, shimmering. It has the letter S on it.

Sally?

Sonya?

Slutbag?

“Dom?” I call out, angling the necklace here and there, watching as it glimmers under the streaks of sunlight pouring through the venetian blinds.

He strides over to his room. “Yeah, babe?”

Silently, I raise the golden necklace between us, waiting for an explanation. He reaches and plucks it from between my fingers, frowning.

“Whoops.”

“Indeed,” I say. “Care to explain?”

My heart is in my throat. I realize this is my out. If Dom has cheated on me, I can turn my back. Walk away. Not feel guilty about it . . . then what? Hit Joe up? Oh, hey, so your brother and I are over, and I was wondering if you wanna catch up?

What am I even thinking right now? I don’t want to break up with Dom. I love him. He is my safe haven.

Dom hands me back the necklace, ruffling his perfect hair. “It was before we got together. Way before. Her name was Sierra. It was one date. Tinder. I don’t usually do those, but I’d just lost a patient and was feeling really raw. Needless to say, I went and got checked afterward. Washed the linens five hundred times. Boiled them. The cleaner must’ve not reached under the bed. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Even though Dom has done nothing wrong (officially, anyway), I’m still a little put off by both the necklace and his explanation. I also feel a weird sense of disappointment to know there was no foul play. That means that he is perfect, after all. And perfect, as we all know, is where nothing grows.

“What, you don’t believe me?” He sounds shocked and hurt.

“No, I do. Of course I do!” I find myself apologizing. Now I feel bad. “It’s just . . . jarring.”

Dom takes the necklace from me, then makes a show of dumping it into the trash can. He claps his hands clean in a good riddance motion. “There. Done. Now let’s move on, please. This was before I knew you were in existence. Before I became your seventy-six-percent chance to marry. You’re a game changer, Lynne.”

“Speaking of game changers.” I muster a smile, chanting in my head It’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine. “It’s supposed to be chances we don’t get married. You changed the rules.”

He hooks his finger around the collar of my shirt and pulls me into him in a savage kiss. “Maybe I play dirty.”

“I like dirty.”

I forget all about my missing earring, and the movie, and suddenly his teeth are skimming the side of my jaw, nibbling and biting softly as he makes his way to my breasts. Then he stops, remembering something.

“Have you called the people about the calligraphy class?”

My old friend, dread, pops in for a visit. It feels like I have a chore list, and that I’m failing miserably at tackling it.

“Nope. But I will, in February. January is always a busy month for me. Tours every day. Inventory in the shop. I couldn’t even find a time to jump on a plane and see my family.” That’s my version of the truth, and it’s a murky one. Technically, I haven’t been invited there since Christmas. “And I’m taking more shifts at the shop, now that Nora’s engaged and could move out on me any minute.”

And the kitchen sink, I hear Mom’s voice chuckling in my head. You’ve given him every excuse on planet earth why you don’t want to go to this course, other than the truth—that you’re not bloody interested in it!

“You know you can always move in here,” he says. “I mean, Loki already hinted he’d be down for it.”

“Thanks for offering. I don’t want either of us to feel pressured, though.”

“I don’t feel pressured. Do you feel pressured?” Dom asks.